Happy Easter, UU's, Whether You Like if or Not
Easter gives a lot of Unitarian Universalists the hives just thinking about it. One minister once told me that half of his congregation stayed home on Easter Sunday for fear that he would mention it. He did any way. On the other hand the event gives UU Christians an annual opportunity to bemoan their persecuted status, especially if they belong to one of the many congregations that no longer serve any kind of communion that day.
It is downright peculiar-the old line “No-God-Talk-Here!” Humanists and Christians united this one day in feeling marginalized. Throw our growing numbers of neo-pagans, equally distrusted by and distrustful of the other two groups, and you have a fine stew of peculiarly Unitarian Universalist angst.
Of course most of the bottoms in the pews are more relaxed about the whole thing. A lot of them came really believing our advertised openness to a wide variety of theological opinion and our respect for our mutual differences. They don’t mind hearing the blowing of Shofar one week and whiffing Buddhist incense the next. They enjoy the variety and don’t feel compelled to sign onto some sub-party.
But many folks among us are still scarred refugees from their childhood religions, generally Christian of one form or another. They equate the oppression they felt, or the wrongs done to them to Jesus and shift uncomfortably when worship seems to drift into a too traditional direction.
It all boils down to Jesus-what do we make of him anyway? Many of us are quite willing to acknowledge him as a great teacher or rabbi, maybe the greatest. Others are willing to put him into some sort of pantheon with Buddha, Lao Tse, and other “authentic religious voices.” A few are willing even to grant him some level of special relationship with God. Or a special relationship with humanity. But few, including most self proclaimed UU Christians, hold much truck with tales of physical resurrection or believe that “Christ died for our sins.” And since that is pretty much what Easter is about-resurrection and God-hood.
Another problem is excessive literalism. Forgive me, but I think this may be the greatest Unitarian Universalist sin. Don’t believe in the fairy tale of the Resurection as an historic fact? Reject Jesus and Christianity. This is our uncomfortable flip side to the fundamentalists-another bunch tied to literalism. If Jesus didn’t die and be resurrected then nothing he supposedly said or anything else in the Bible is in any way true. All faith collapses.
Both need to come to grips with the power of metaphor. Something does not have to be demonstratably physically “real” to be true. Myth, metaphor dressed up in legend, can reveal great truths about us, our lives, our relationships each other, and our place in the universe. But only if we can take of the stubborn blinders of literalism.
If we do, we can view the story about Jesus and his resurrection comfortably without committing ourselves to a crime scene investigation of the evidence in minutia. If we were to uncover all the physical evidence and prove one way or another that Jesus lived, died, and something funny happened afterwards, it would not diminish one iota the power of the myth metaphor surrounding him.
That it is the central metaphor of western culture also means it is far too important for us to ignore or hide from. We can’t reject it any more than we can reject carbon. One is a building block of life, the other the building block of the culture in which we must operate whether we like it or not.
Like most UU’s I don’t buy the bells and whistles hung on Jesus by the established churches. But on Easter, or any other day, I can’t ignore him.
The following poem is just one of the ways I have of trying to sort out my complicated thoughts and feelings about this Jesus. I hope you enjoy it. Happy Easter.
COME TO ME SWEET JESUS
“Come to me, Sweet Jesus!”
The TV preacher shouts,
thumping his chest,
waving his arms
with the urgency and passion
of a man whose toes
have tapped on brimstone.
Which Jesus, I wonder casually,
My thumb hovering over the remote
eager to find the ballgame.
The Jesus on my childhood wall
Wore long blonde hair
tumbling, shining to his shoulders
like a Breck ad,
gentle blue eyes,
aquiline nose,
a Nordic Jesus
come to life in Jeffrey Hunter
waiting the piercing stab
of John Wayne’s Centurion lance.
I have since seen a Jesus
for every purpose and every reason-
African Jesus dashikied in splendor,
beardless Blackfoot Jesus in eagle feathers,
Jesus with breasts and womb,
American Guy Jesus,
neat trimmed beard and curling hair
like the Little League coach down the block.
What Jesus does this sweating man summon
with his electronic worship music band
and cathedral in the parking lot,
pews filled with rapture
in sports shirts and sundresses?
And who, when I shut my eyes,
Do I beckon when I murmur,
Come to me sweet Jesus?
A swarthy man,
stocky build, barrel chested,
muscular forearms bulging
from the swing of the hammer
matted with a thick curling pelt,
nose large, lips fleshy,
burnoose over raven hair,
wrapped in dingy coarse cloth,
callused bare feet
black with the dust of the road.
I see a man.
Come to me, sweet Jesus,
Let me wash your feet.
This poem appeared in my book, WE BUILD TEMPLES IN THE HEART, published by Skinner House Books. Available from the UUA Bookstore for $8.00 plus shipping.
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